


Tracks Followed

by bangyoungdae



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyoungdae/pseuds/bangyoungdae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho is a maze that Newt doesn't know how to approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracks Followed

They've been here close to three years.

They've been here close to three years, Minho thinks.

Every day is the same routine in the Maze. He'd wake up before dawn, eat breakfast made by Frypan, get ready for a new day in the Maze, go to the Map Room to have a brief look at yesterday maps, and run. Although the Maze changes every day, what he does stayed the same. Run, memorize, turn, run, memorize, turn, and run. Then he'd get back, sweaty and tired, go to the map room, recall what he could pull out of his memory, redraw them on papers as accurate as possible, compare them with yesterday maps, talk with the other runners, go eat, rest, then sleep.

And when he wakes up the next day, he does everything again.

Minho wonders if everything is ever going to change.

Sometimes, he feels hopeless, like it doesn't matter how much efforts he puts in everyday, running the maze tirelessly. They would never escape.

Sometimes, he dreams of how it would be like to live outside of the maze, to do whatever he did before this life, if he did have an old life.

And sometimes, Minho wants to lie down and never wake up again.

 

Life in the maze isn't so bad, most of the time. They have limitless supplies of food and necessities, a new kid every month to entertain and replace with the dead ones. Everyone has their job and everyone do their job, and that's how they keep themselves sane. Occasionally, some mishaps would happen, someone gets stung or killed by Grievers, or gets banished, not so happy moments. But other than that, life in the maze is good.

Minho gets along with the Gladers just fine. Not best buddies. Just fine. They're okay to be around with, sometimes fun, and enough to keep him from feeling too lonely. But if someone is to ask who he'd really call as a friend, he would say Newt. Newt was a Runner a couple of months back, until he got injured, and is never, in his words, bloody the same. Newt is a good guy. He's caring, almost like a mom sometimes, and, for Minho, surprisingly pleasant to be around.

 

"Hey, Minho. Getting ready to go into the maze?" Newt asks, limping toward him. He has a nice voice, laces with an odd accent that no other Glader seems to have. Minho does not say, but he nods. He secures his bag and throws it over his shoulders. He's about to run into the maze when Newt grabs him. He turns back, quirking an eyebrow.

"Here." The blonde male holds out necklace made from carefully chosen rocks and little twigs. "For good luck, I suppose."

Minho takes the necklace and says, "Didn't know you're in these kinds of thing." Newt pushes him, grinning. "Shut up you bloody shank. Be thankful I took the time to make this." Minho rolls his eyes, but he puts on the necklace anyway, and Newt smiles.

"Really, Minho. Good luck. Be back on time." Newt says, looking worried, but tries to hide it.

Minho pats his back. "No worry. I'll be right back before you can see it. Can have y'all bloody shanks eating all the food like starving pigs, right? Frypan better be serving me like king today."

Newt laughs, tension rolls off his shoulders a bit. He adjusts the necklace on Minho neck, pushing it inside his shirt, and pats his back.

"Come back, promise?"

Minho smiles, "Promise."

 

He screws up. He’s not supposed to be taking this turn, because this isn’t his route today. Minho stops to take a gulp of breath, and estimates the time. He has around an hour to get back before the doors close, sealing his fate. He pants heavily, putting his hand on the wall to keep himself up. _You got this, Minho._ He says to himself. _An hour to get back. You got this._ He takes step by step, than slowly speeds up to a run. His steps are unbalanced, but he can’t afford to lose any more time to rest.

Run, run and run, that’s all he has on mind at the moment.

After what seems like eternity, he sees the doors.

He sees Newt standing there, waving at him.

He steps out of the maze, and collapses.

 

Minho wakes up, completely exhausted physically. His muscles are groaning in agonize, and it seems like no place on his body isn’t aching in pain. He opens an eye, scanning around. He’s at the medical room, two of the Med-jacks sitting near to keep an eye on him. They jump when they notice that he’s awake, and one runs out, probably to find Alby and Newt. The other one runs toward him with some water on his hand. “Here. Take a drink. You’ll need it.”

He groans, “Thanks for telling me, shank. Like my burning throat didn’t say enough.” The med-jack doesn’t seem offend, probably used to his attitude. He grabs the bottle, grunts a thank you, and downs the entire bottle in one go.

“Careful. Don’t choke yourself.” The med-jack says, worried, but he couldn’t care less. Minho feels like complete klunk right now. He probably looks worse.

He’s done before Newt and Alby run in, looking like they just did a marathon. Minho chortles, “You look like you just saw a ghost,” and breaks into a fit of cough. A hand is on his shoulder seconds later, rubbing and patting his back to calm him down. Through his coughs, he hears Newt grumbles, “What the bloody hell happened Minho? You’re never like this.”

 _No._ Minho thinks weakly. _You’ve never seen me this way._

“Had a picnic with Grievers,” he says. “Lost track of time.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that attitude, Minho. What happened?”

Minho rolls his eyes back. “Since when can you talk to me this way?” He bites his tongue at the look of hurt flashes in front of Newt’s face, which quickly is replaced by anger.

“Shut your shuck mouth, Minho. I’m here worry for your sorry butt and that’s all I get?” Newt growls. His hand already retracts away from the runner, and he stands right in front of him, hand on his hip.

What comes out of Minho's mouth next makes him wants to hit himself.

“Well you shouldn’t have worried so much then.”

 

Newt has refused to talk to him ever since, after he stomped out of the medical room angrily. Alby didn’t try to stop Newt, and gave him a stern look of both disappointment and sympathy.

“He was really worried about you.” Their leader slowly said.

Minho put his head in his hands and sighed. “He shouldn’t be. There are better things to be worried about.”

Alby shook his head. “You’re the stupidest shuck-face sometimes, Minho. I don't know why we made you the Keeper of the Runners, but you're so stupid." Minho snorted at that. Alby stopped, looked at Minho for a while, then continued. "It’s not about should be or not. It’s about wanting to.” Minho’s head snapped up, his eyes wide opened. Alby didn’t explain, just patted him on the back. “Just eat something and rest, for now. You can go look for him later.”

 

Minho looks at Newt, sighing sadly. He doesn't know how to approach the other boy, to say sorry, part because his pride is too high, part because he just doesn't know how to express himself. It feels like the first day at the maze again, confused, lost, and lonely. He doesn't know what to do.

 

Minho runs, fast and nonstop, until he doubles over, squeezing and gasping in pain. His lungs feel like they're on fire, like someone grabs them in their hand and squeeze the air out, and Minho finds his consciousness slowly slipping. He doesn't know what's wrong with himself. He hasn't been on top of his game recently, always blanking out and losing tract of what's happening. He feels like drowning, like he just couldn't find a way out, but that's not true, because he always find a way out, back to the Glade.

He hurt Newt.

He really didn't mean to. He didn't - doesn't - know what's wrong with himself.

Newt doesn't deserve that. He cares. He always cares.

Minho doesn't like seeing the other works himself up over him. Newt deserves much more, much better, someone amazing like him. He would do anything to protect him, to find a way out, for Newt.

That was how he felt.

Now, he thinks he doesn't want Newt to go, to find another life outside of the Glade, the Maze, a life without him.

It's a ridiculous feeling.

Minho chides himself for being stupid. There's no reason to feel that way. Newt probably had a life before the Maze, a life without him.

He probably did too.

Minho closes his eyes and breathes slowly. In. Out. In. Out.

He'll be fine.

He'll be just fine.

 

He gets back late, again. Some of the Gladers are standing at the door, looking worried; a couple of Runners too. They probably are. Minho was never this way, never late, always on time; always strictly follow the rules, strong, independent, the Keeper of the Runners.

He wonders if that's all they see in him.

 

He scans the ground, heart drops when he couldn't find the mop of messy blonde hair, the limping leg. It hurts, a little, but he shouldn’t be feeling that way. Newt is just another Glader. He’s no different.

Alby is there, yelling at him. "Hurry up, Minho!"

"Shut up, shank." He snarls back, more annoyed than his usual sarcastic joking tone. He grunts and fastens his steps. The door is going to close in 20 minutes. It's late, but he has more than enough time to get into the Glade. He thinks of spending the night at the Map Room instead of the Homestead. It sounds nice, anything better than seeing Newt right now.

When he steps into the maze, Alby immediately walks up to him and asks. "What happened out there, Minho? You're late two times in a roll. This is so not like ya." Minho shakes his head. "It's nothing for you to worry about." Alby looks at him in annoyance and worry. He grabs Minho's shoulders and growls, "Nothing? You came back late two days in a roll, looking like you've seen at least five Grievers every day. Even faint yesterday. Whatever happened, you need to get all of that together. Minho. You're the Keeper of the Runners. Can't keep on going like this." Minho suddenly pushes Alby harshly; the other male stumbles back several steps. The Gladers standing around gasp. Alby looks stunned, and the Keeper of the Runner looks absolutely livid.

"You think I don't know that?" Minho almost yells. Gladers around him step away, scared to see him this way. Minho never loses his cool.

Alby holds his hands up, "Minho. Calm down."

Minho growls, "Calm down? I'm calm alright." He suddenly stops talking, and put his hands over his eyes. He feels a thick lump forms in his throat, making it hard to speak. "I get it Alby. I'm the Keeper of the Runners. That's all." His shoulders are shaking lightly, and he hopes no one notice. He doesn't like to look weak in front of anyone. It's just..  
...tiring.

"Minho?"

"God just shut it." Minho snaps. "Shut it." And he walks away, leaving the rest of the Gladers standing stunned, unable to make sense of the situation.

 

Minho's sitting in the Map Room, alone. The rest of the Runners had cleared out, giving him some space. They don't know exactly what happened except a couple of Runners who were waiting for him at the door, but they know their Keeper is in a very bad mood. Without saying anything, they all stepped out of the Map Room, leaving Minho by himself. He's thankful. He needs some times on his own to clear his mind, to think about all the things that went wrong recently, all the things that are wrong about himself. He picks up a map that is drawn today, assessing the patterns and compares it with the other maps.

Minho throws it back on the table. It's no use.

They've been doing this close to three years.

He's about to walk out, maybe to go get some air, when a knock on the door startles him. It opens, and walks in Newt. Minho sucks in a breath of air he doesn't know he's holding.

It is perfect silence, before Newt starts talking. "You alright?"

Minho laughs, humorless. "Alright? I'm alright, alright." A brief look of hurt flashes through Newt’s face, quickly replace by worry. Minho averts his gaze, unable to look at the other. Newt steps closer toward him. “You sure?” The other’s voice is soft and tired, unlike his usually sharp and strong demeanor. Minho doesn’t know, but he answers anyway. “I’m sure.”

Newt sighs, put doesn’t press on. “Diner is in. Go eat something before you go to sleep. You gonna need that.”

 

Sometimes, Minho wishes time would stop, that another day would never come, bringing the inevitable routine to return once again. Or he wishes everything would go back to the first year in the Maze, when everything was still okay, when he was still okay. He questions why are they here, why are they spending their time repeating the same routine every day, just to wake up tomorrow and do it again. But its order, it’s what keeps them alive, and it’s stupid to break it. Without order, without routine, they would drive themselves to the brink of insanity. Without order, they wouldn’t be alive.

Is there really a reason to stay alive?

 

Minho blinks; rays of light squeezing their way between the cracks of the wooden room and touch his eyelids. He stifles a yawn and stretches. He feels stiffed, but other than that, better than the other days. He looks at his watch. The Runners are probably all up by now, getting ready for another day in the Maze. He better gets ready too.

When he walks out, some of the Runners are at the door, timid, as if they don’t know how to approach him, or walking into the room without him breaking into one of his anger fit. He feels sorry for what he did yesterday. He shouldn’t have broken down in front of them. Minho motions for them to go on, and they quickly huddle inside the room. He’s going to have to skip looking at the map today and just go straight to the Maze.

 

Minho knows he can’t keep on going like this. The Runners need him to pull it together. He’s their Keeper. The Gladers need him to pull it together. He and the Runners are their only means to escape. Newt needs him to pull it together.

He curses when he realizes that he’s, again, not on the route he’s supposed to be at. He looks at his watch. He has time to go back to where he messed up and starts running that route. That is until he hears something that sends chill straight down his spine.

Mechanic sounds.

Minho quickly hides himself behind one of the wall, cursing. He doesn’t look, but he knows exactly what those noises mean.

A Griever is near.

He assesses his chance of escaping. He doesn’t know where the Griever is, and running out now is pin pointing his exact position for it to attack. He can climb up, but that would give him no option to escape.

Minho sucks in air as he hears the mechanical sounds grow louder and closer.

_Whirrrrrrrr-_

_Click-click-click_

His heart is beating so loudly he’s afraid the hideous creature could hear it.

_Whirrrrrr-_

_Click-click-click_

_Whirrrrrrrr-_

_Click-click-click_

He’s never been so scared. Cold sweat breaks out on his body, and Minho’s head spins as the fear plasters his mind.

_Whirrrrr-_

_Click-click-click_

And then silence. Minho almost thinks the Griever has left, until the sound of machine spuns to life echoes through the maze, quickly making its way toward him.

In that one decisive moment, Minho runs.

 

He claws through the air, through the dirt, and never looks back once. He can’t afford to slow himself down, just keep the task on running and running. His lungs are burning with fire, and his vision blurs. Minho could feel himself slowing down, but he pushes faster. He knows his body is working to his limit, but this moment, he wants to survive. He wants to live, to go back to the Glade.

He wants to see Newt.

 

He trips on one of the rock and falls. The impact tears a huge chunk of his right’s knee, and he moans at the pain. He tries to push himself up, but only to collapse at every attempt. Minho breathes out. That’s it. That is it. His fight is over.

He’s about to give up and let the creature gets him, when a pair of hands grab his shirt, pulls him up and behind a wall. He groans when pain shoots straight from his knee to every fiber of his nerve. He hasn’t look at it, but it must be bad. A hand slaps over his mouth to keep any noise from escaping, and Minho watches as the Griever chasing after him rolls straight ahead without stopping. He whimpers, and is glad that the hand over his mouth prevents any noise from being audible.

At the back, he can hears two voices sighing in relief, but he couldn’t focus on who they are right now. His head is spinning, throat burning, and muscle protesting. The Runners seem to notice and grabs the water bottle in his bag and gives it to him. He takes it thankfully and gulps down as much water as he could. One of the Runners pats his back and tells him to slow down. They let him sits there to regain his breathe, and gather his conscious, before speaks up. “We should head back. A little early, but you need to get that wound checked.” Minho nods, too weak to protest, and let the Runners throw his arms over their shoulders for support. They grunt, but do not complain. It’s going to take a while to find a way out of the Maze, but Minho needs that time to collect his thoughts, to assure everyone, and himself, that he’s okay.

 

Some of the Gladers are milling near the door, doing their usual stuffs, and when they notice three lumps of human shape limping toward the door, a couple of them run to find help. The Runners set Minho down the floor, breathing heavily. They are drenched in sweat, dazed and tired. The Gladers who stay all gather around them, asking if they’re okay. The Runners grunt at the questions, clearly too exhausted to answer. Minutes later, a large group of Gladers come running toward them, with Alby, Newt and the Med-jacks at the front.

Newt.

His face pales with fears and worries. Despite his bad legs, he pushes himself to reach the group of Runners first. When he gets to them, he immediately asks. “What the bloody hell happened?” He stares at the Keeper and the Runners, who stay silent. “I repeat. What the bloody hell happened?” The two Runners look between themselves and at the Keeper, who is still on the floor, silent. Finally, one of them speaks. “Minho got attacked by a Griever.” Newt pales. “He’s not supposed to be where he was. That wasn’t his route for today. I don’t know what happened before that.” Newt’s shoulders shags and he turns to Minho. “What the bloody hell happen Minho? Why weren’t you where you were supposed to be?” Minho doesn’t answer, just hangs his head low. Newt’s face slowly turns red with anger. “Minho! Why?” Minho snaps. “I don’t know. I don’t shucking know okay. Just shut up!”

Newt grabs his shirt and pulls him up. Minho hisses quietly, wincing in pain, but Newt doesn’t seem to notice. “What’s wrong with you, Minho? You’ve been a bloody mess for days! And you almost got killed by a Griever, and now you tell me you don’t know?”

“I don’t know.” Minho spats. “Just shut it! Why do you care?” He immediately regrets saying that, knowing well that it would hurts the other male. He’s about to say sorry when a fist connects his face, causing him to stumble down on the grass. He looks up, stunned. Newt is standing there, chest heaving in anger. The blonde male balls his fist, but when he sees the expression of hurt on the raven male’s face, his immediately regrets what he just did. “Minho I-.”

Minho doesn’t let him finish, because he stands up and immediately runs to the wood, ignoring the pain on his right knee.

Newt is about to run after him when Alby grabs his shoulders and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have done that, Newt. I know you’re worried, but it’s not going to help him.” Newt turns to their leader, tears glistening in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Alby. I don’t know. He hasn’t been himself recently.” Alby pulls him in a hug and pats his back. “I know. I realize that too. He needs to work that out, somehow.” Newt sobs in Alby’s shoulders. He’s lost. He’s so lost right now, and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

The sky is getting dark, and the Door is going to close in a minute. The Runners are all at the Map Room, with the exception of Minho. They don’t ask about the absence of their Keeper, just focus on the task in hand. The two Runners who saved Minho told him about Minho’s wound before they left, and Newt feels even worse after that. He shouldn’t have done that. Whatever Minho is keeping inside, he’s been battling it alone, and he’s tired. Newt should have known.

He’s a horrible friend.

 

The Door is closing, grinding at the floor. The noises are loud and ear jarring, but they got used to them after a while. Newt sits there, staring at nothing in particular, when someone sits down next to him, and a dish of mash potato and steak is pushed over to him. He accepts it without much enthusiasm, poking around with the food before setting it down.

“Eat it, Newt. You gonna need it.” Alby says, chewing on his food. Newt sighs. “I can’t. I feel like klunk right now, worse than that.” Alby snorts, and pushes another dish toward him. “That’s why I brought you two. Go find Minho and talk to him. He’s gonna need it, and the food too. He hasn’t been eating properly for days.” Newt looks at Alby, who nods toward the direction of the wood. “Get him to see the Med-jacks too. The Runners told me.” Newt stares at the two dishes at his side before picking them up. He smiles. “Thanks, Alby,” and runs into the wood.

 

It takes a while, but he finally finds who he’s looking for. Minho is sitting by a tree with his eyes closed, ragged and dirty. Newt walks toward him, and the Runner’s eyes shoot open when his ears pick upon sounds. He looks surprised to see Newt, but doesn’t protest when the other sits down next to him and gives him a dish of food. They eats together in silence, occasionally a glance at one another before turning back to focus on their food.

“It’s been almost three years, isn’t it?” Newt suddenly says, and Minho looks at him, as if urging him to go on. “Three bloody years in this Maze, trying to find a way out,” Newt smiles. “We cried like babies for days when we first got here through that damn box, and eventually had to suck it up and live a life here.” Minho’s mouth twitches at the memory. “We’ve been through tons together, up and down, seeing friends died, welcoming new ones to the Glade, just a lot for a group of kids.”

“You know. You all are like my friends, my family. I don’t know if I would survive without you. Probably not,” Newt says. “I know things seem hopeless sometimes, and I don’t know how to fix everything, but I’m there, Minho. I’m always there, for you.” He stops, and then continues. “So please don’t hold it in by yourselves. I know you’re strong, but you can’t be strong all the time.” He gulps, holding in the tears on verge of falling. “You don’t have to be. You don’t have to be Minho the Keeper of the Runners all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Minho. Our Minho. My Minho,” He sniffs, wiping at the tears, and laughs, “My Minho.”

Newt is waiting for one, but Minho doesn’t answer. He smiles sadly and turns to the other male, to say a joke or to tell him to forget what he just says.

He didn’t expect to see Minho with his face hiding in his arms, shoulders shaking, crying. Newt is stunned for a moment, before he scoots over and embraces the other in a hug. Minho bits on his lips, tears wetting his face and arms.

“It’s been hard.” He croaks. Newt rubs his back, telling him to go on. “Whatever we’re doing, I don’t think it’s working. We’ve been here three shucking years and still no way out.” Minho wipes at his face, and laughs. “It’s like we’re destined to die here or something, scared, hopeless. Sometimes, I feel like I’m nothing more than just a Keeper of the Runner, and I just don’t see why I am alive.”

Newt wipes at the tears running down Minho’s face. “I know. I know it’s been hard. But you are important to us. You are our hope, hope to escape, hope to find a life outside this bloody Maze. We depend on you, look up to you. You are our friend, family, and we are yours.” He smiles. “So please don’t give up, Minho. We’ll find a way out, a place for all of us, a place for you, and for me.”

Newt grabs Minho’s hand, and he holds it back. They lean on each other, Newt’s head on Minho’s shoulder and Minho’s head on Newt’s. “Tomorrow is a new day. I hope you’re there for me, and I’m there for you.” Newt says softly, “So don’t give up, Minho.”


End file.
